The tension in the VIP section contested that of the one on the court.
Jimmy’s eyes were glued to the court. Despite not wanting to be so intrigued by the game, he watched the game with furrowed brows and tight lips. He hadn’t expected to be so invested in the game, but here he was, sitting at the edge of his seat, fingers tapping anxiously on his knee.
"This isn’t looking good," he muttered under his breath.
Kimmy glanced over, her eyes equally tense. "I thought it was over since the beginning," she said, repeating his brother’s words from mere moments ago.
That was what made it so scary.
Jimmy thought so, too. At the start, the Knights had looked like they had it in the back, and the Shizi Dogs, especially without Yuze at full capacity, seemed destined to fail. But now, something felt different.
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Even with Yuze’s injury, even with their captain struggling to stay on his feet, Jimmy wasn’t so sure anymore.
There was something different about this team—something that made him feel like they could actually pull this off.
On the court, Yuze was hunched over, his leg barely able to support him. His body screamed at him to stop—to quit right then and there.
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But as he looked down at the hardwood floor, he suddenly felt a presence beside him. And then another. His teammates had surrounded him, their eyes filled with concern and unwavering support.
It hit him, then. They had always been there from the beginning.
Through every triumph, every fall, every excruciating moment, they had been right by his side.
He had pushed himself to the limit to lead them and to live up to the legacy his father had built. But now, in this moment, he realized something: maybe it was okay to step back. Maybe, just this once, it was okay to let go.
Kai approached him slowly, placing a firm hand on Yuze’s shoulder. His voice was quiet but filled with conviction. "You’ve done enough... captain."
Yuze’s chest tightened as he looked into Kai’s eyes. There was no pity there—only respect. He had fought with everything he had, and Kai knew it. His teammates knew it.
The crowd erupted in applause as Yuze slowly walked toward the bench, his leg trembling beneath him. He limped with every step, but his head was held high.
"Yuze!"
"Yuze!"
"Yuze!"
The sound of his name being chanted filled his ears. The noise was overwhelming, but more than anything, it was comforting.
He wasn’t leaving in defeat. He was leaving knowing he had given everything.
Guanyu watched from the sidelines, his eyes misty as he saw his son walk off the court.
His focus was only on his son, and the game was forgotten for a moment, as he realized that Yuze was not him. His son was his own person, his own player, and he had forged a path that Guanyu never could.
Even then, the game still wasn’t over. The game resumed, and right off the bat, Yuze’s absence left a gap that couldn’t easily be filled.
Jet stepped up to play center, but his height disadvantage made it difficult. Max, sensing the moment, took advantage of the situation.
He could feel it—the zone. Everything around him slowed down, and for the first time in the entire game, the world seemed quiet.
Kai stood across from him, his eyes locked on Max, but there was something different in his gaze. Max shook his head, trying to suppress the doubt creeping in.
No, he told himself.
He could still do this. He had to. There was a minute left on the clock, and the Knights were down by three points. All he needed was to make one shot, just one, and they could force overtime.
The Knights moved quickly, the ball passing from hand to hand, holding onto it like it was a million dollars.
Jet struggled to keep up, his shorter frame making it hard to defend against the taller forwards of the Knights. Max saw his opening and darted forward, dodging two defenders. The ball landed in his hands, and he pushed through the paint, heading straight for the basket.
In an instant, Kai closed the gap. His eyes were locked on Max, and Max could feel the intensity radiating off of him.
Max gritted his teeth, determined to make it to the hoop. He feinted right, but Kai didn’t bite. Max pivoted left, but again, Kai stayed on him, his defense impenetrable.
Desperation seeped into Max’s movements. He could feel the time ticking away. With a sudden burst of speed, he spun around, attempting a fadeaway shot. But Kai leaped into the air, his hand outstretched and blocked the ball with a sharp slap, sending it flying toward the sidelines.
The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and gasps. Max scrambled to recover.
Everything was a blur now. The Knights were on Kai’s heels, but they couldn’t catch him. Kai’s heart pounded in his chest as he reached the three-point line, his mind racing. He could settle for a safe pass and run down the clock, but that wasn’t him. Kai didn’t want to just win—he wanted to end this.
He stopped abruptly at the three-point line, his body moving on autopilot. The ball left his fingers, making a high arc.
Time seemed to slow as everyone watched the ball soar toward the hoop.
Max, still trying to catch up, skidded to a halt and stared, his breath caught in his throat. This couldn’t be happening.
The ball swished through the net.
It was Kai’s seventh three-pointer of the night.
The stadium exploded. Cheers reverberated through the walls as the scoreboard flashed the final score: 90-84 in favor of the Shizi Dogs.
The game was over.
Kai stood there, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his eyes scanning the court. His teammates rushed toward him, engulfing him in a wave of celebration. But Kai’s gaze drifted to the sidelines, where Yuze sat, watching them with a small, tired smile.
"It’s over now," Yuze muttered.
"Finally."
And just like that, he felt as if a huge thorn was plucked out of his chest.